Within the minute the captains are all in their dinghies and being rowed to where my galley is tied to the dock. Some of them are wearing their hooded leather tunics. It’s chilly on the water even though it’s spring day in early April.
My message is short and sweet and I wink at Peter after I say it.
“Everyone is now here and we’ll be sailing for Malta shortly. So all of you must stop allowing shore leaves and immediately send parties ashore to recall your leave men. Those of you with ships and dinghies at the dock are to immediately move them to the harbor and anchor them there so our men can’t run or slip ashore for one last drink or dingle dip. My galley will stay here at the dock and board those of your men who return from leave after you anchor in the harbor. I’ll send them out to you later. Dismissed.”
Three hours later and the flag again goes up to call another captains’ meeting. Most of their shore parties and leave men have already returned and all the ships are anchored in the harbor and ready to sail. This time Harold has also moved our galley into the harbor and the meeting is not short and sweet.
“For your ears only and not to be shared with any of your crews until we clear the harbor – our galleys are not going from here to Malta and then on to Cyprus – as soon as the weather and tides are right we are going to take our galleys into Algiers looking for prizes and then go on to Malta with any we take.
There are cheers and smiles all around and rightly so – almost everyone here was on our raid into Tunis and profited greatly from it; and those that weren’t there have certainly heard all about it and the prize money it produced. Then I continue with the good news that this time the prize money will be even greater.
“Prize money will be as follows: Captain sergeants will receive three bezant gold coins for every galley or cog or cargo ship their galley takes and gets to Malta; sergeants five silver coins; men ten copper coins. Every man will get another copper for each additional ship his galley burns.”
“And that’s not all - sergeants who become prize captains will get an additional gold coin and keep the ship as its captain if they get it to Malta; their prize sergeants get two additional silvers and their prize crewmen five coppers. Fishing boats are to be left alone as always.”
Yes we’re generous, but we’re not dumb; even the meanest galleys and cogs are worth a lot more than the prize money we’ll be paying to get them – and burned galleys can’t be used against us.
Loud cheers and even bigger smiles are the order of the day when the captains hear the prize monies they’ll receive for the ships they take and burn. All the sergeant captains were with us on our visit to Tunis last year and what they are now being offered is a chance for advancement for their men and riches beyond their dreams for themselves. There is, of course, the little matter of actually getting to Algiers and actually taking prizes and actually getting them back to Malta.
The only men not smiling are our two cog captains - they are not going to accompany us to Algiers. So I take great pains to console them.
And rightly so as I later explain to Peter Sergeant. Albert’s one of the original archers and deserves to know he’s not being slighted. And, for that matter, so does William from Chester who is the archer sergeant captaining the other cog.
“Don’t worry you two – you and your men will get the very same prize money for every pirate galley or Saracen ship you take from this moment on. So you’ll likely end up with more prize money than anyone else by the end of the season. You can sail from here to anywhere you wish and begin baiting them to attack your cogs as soon as our galleys clear the harbor for Algiers. Send your prizes to Cyprus and you and your men will collect your prize coins there just like everyone else. Oh yes, and make damn sure they have enough water in their skins or a good plan to get some on the way.”
Then we got down to seriously planning our raid and arranging for the cogs to pass out all the extra candle lanterns and incendiary bundles of dried twigs they’ve been carrying as cargo without even their sergeant captains knowing why.
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Two days later the weather and tides look good for reaching the harbor at Algiers during the Moors’ prayers on Friday. That’s the main time, so we’ve been led to understand, for Moslems to go to their shrines and pray on the Islamic Sabbath. I hope that’s true for it is always best to try to steal something when its owner isn’t around.
It’s crisp and clear and the winds from the north when I order Peter Sergeant to raise the “follow me” flag on Wednesday in the early afternoon and nod to Harold. A few shouted orders from Harold and the big galley’s anchor is raised and our archers are in their places on the rowing benches. Everyone’s obviously been waiting - a few seconds later the sound of many rowing drums begins to be heard and a long line of galleys follows us out of the Palma harbor.
The men on our cogs are crowding their rails and waving down to us and cheering as we row past them. I see Albert Devon high above me on his cog and we exchange friendly salutes and waves as our galley passes by. The cogs will be on their way to troll for pirates as soon as the wind is favorable.
As soon as the galleys clear the harbor they move in and close up tight around us. We’ll use the light from the lamps hanging on our masts in an effort to stay close together in the darkness. The lamps are important because we have to stay together so we can go in to the Algiers harbor together in one big group Friday morning.
According to all the information Harold and I have been able to gather, the Algerians are most likely at prayers at high noon on Fridays. That, according to Harold and those who are supposed to know about such things, is when the Moorish galleys and ships in the Algiers harbor are most likely to be tied up at the beach so they can’t float away or are sitting lightly crewed at the dock or are anchored in the harbor. Cutting out their ships when the pirates are praying worked for us at Tunis and we’re all hoping it will work again here at Algiers.
Attacking when they least expect it and are not ready to fight back is always the best policy when fighting Moslems - and everyone else.
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The weather is favorable and we are able to stay together under the stars of mostly clear skies both Wednesday and Thursday night. A couple of hours after sunup on Friday morning finds us bobbing in the water just off the coast near Algiers with our men fully rested and ready to go. Harold and I look at each other and we both nod our heads.
“Hang the “follow me” flag and the “attack” flag on the mast,” Harold bellows at the chosen man he’s had standing ready at the mast ever since the sun came up.
Harold and the other galley captains will be using their sails and having their men rowing easy to conserve their strength until we reach the harbor entrance. After a while Peter fetches me my iron helmet and sword and a small ship’s shield from the railing. Peter and I are both carrying our long bows and two quivers of iron tipped arrows. Peter’s got a ship’s shield and sword as well and a borrowed helmet that looks like it doesn’t fit very well. The other archers on board are similarly equipped. Those who are not still on the rowing benches have spread out along on the deck and untied all of the many bales of arrows we have on board.
Chapter Two
Algiers is a huge place with a superb harbor. It’s an altogether impressive city with a couple of beautiful white sandy beaches and houses with red tile roofs that run from the dock all the way up to the great fortress crowning the hill that towers above the city and harbor. More than twenty thousand people are said to live inside the city walls. And they are all apparently either pirates or merchants or their slaves and servants.
Our tightly grouped galleys split up into three separate smaller groups as we come through the harbor entrance with the rowing drum of every galley beating a fast and steady beat and two men at every oar. Four of our galleys are going for the Algerian galleys beached next to the dock; four to the dock itself to take the ships tied up along it; and four to the ships anchored in the harbor.
There are a
lso a few galleys and a lot of fishing boats all along the beach south of the harbor. If all goes well we may try to get some of those galleys on the way out.
People are standing on the beach and dock watching as we row in. Then some of the watchers begin running for the houses and the big mosque part way up the hill towards the great castle that towers above the city; others are running toward the galleys on the beach.
Damn. We’re not even there yet and already the alarm is being sounded.
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William assigned me to go after the Algerian galleys pulled up side by side on the harbor beach next to the dock. My crew and I are as prepared and determined as men can be. This is the chance of a lifetime for me to become rich and famous. As you might imagine, I am determined not to let it pass.
I’ve told off three prize crews and they’re each ready and anxious to fight their way on to an Algerian galley and take it off the beach. Then, God willing, they’ll sail them on to Malta and Cyprus and I’ll be rich.
My new wife is very enthusiastic about this. She’s a widow I met on board one of Lord William’s refugee ships when it carried her to safety from Latika and I signed on as a pilot.
As you might imagine, we want to cut our prizes out and get away quickly before the heathen bastards begin to fight back. That’s why I am standing here in the bow looking for galleys that are merely nosed into the beach next to the dock and still floating - so my prize crews can quickly push them off the beach and climb aboard. If a galley doesn’t have slaves to help us row it to Malta we’ll burn it, if we have time, and look for one that does.
“Over there. Put us in there,” I shout over my shoulder to my rudder man as I point to a couple of galleys that are nosed into the shore side by side.
“Stand by to back oars” …… “back oars.”
There is a grinding noise for a couple of seconds as the bow of our hull begins to come over the sands and pebbles of the beach. Even before we come totally to a stop there are great cheers and shouts and about half my men, the men of my three prize crews, leap over the rail in front of me to wade ashore and go for the galleys. Every man is a volunteer because of the coins on offer and the men who didn’t get selected are jealous of them.
My prize takers are all carrying ships’ shields and swords and about half of them are also carrying long bows and quivers. Three of them, one member of each prize crew is carrying a bundle of twigs and a lantern to fire them if the prize crew comes across a galley it cannot take. Every penny counts you know. That’s what my wife always says.
Removing the weight of all the men in my prize crews from the front of my galley raises our bow and, as expected, we float free. One of my chosen men jumps down to follow the prize crews. His name is Joseph and he’ll stand there knee deep in the water and use the mooring line he’s holding to keep our galley close to shore until all of my men are either back on board or safely away on our prizes. Three others of my men are on deck holding long Swiss pikes and ready to push us away from shore for a fast departure as soon as Joseph scrambles back on board.
Already two of my prize crews are climbing on the two side by side galleys floating next to us with their noses up on the beach. My third prize crew is dashing down the beach to a third galley about three hundred paces further to the north. The sand is loose up on the beach where it is dry so they are running along the water’s edge where it is firmer and they can run faster.
Resistance. By God we are meeting resistance. I can hear the shouts and sounds of fighting coming from inside the two side by side galleys next to us. Worse, there are armed men standing on the sand in front of the third galley and more jumping down from it. My prize crew on the beach is about to be in a serious fight.
“Francis,” I snap to the newly promoted archer sergeant standing next to me as I point at the galley down the beach where are men are about to come to grips and start fighting. “Take your men down the beach and join the prize crew fighting for that galley; Phillip, you take yours and help clear the two galleys next to us.”
There is fighting and shouting all along the beach. Worse, it appears that my third prize crew and their reinforcements have run into a wasp’s nest of Saracens. They are heavily engaged on the beach to my right and more are coming. Francis’ archers are not going to be enough.
“Everyone follow me. Emergency. Emergency. Let’s go. Hurry boys hurry.”
I grab a ship’s shield off the railing where they hang and rush down the beach at the head of twenty or so of my men, the last of my crew except for the minimal amount of rowers we’ll need to get off the beach and row away. Already I can see some of my boarding party have been cut down.
Our arrival makes the difference. Many of the Algerians begin to run; others are still fighting but the tide is definitely turning. Some of my men are down but most of them are at the galley; they’re trying to push it out and climb aboard at the same time.
“Push it out.” … “That’s it.” … “Push it out.” … “Everyone get on board.” … “Hurry….”
I’m shouting and running for the galley myself when suddenly a tremendous blow to my back staggers me forward. I look down when I get regain control of my feet without actually falling. A bloody arrowhead is sticking out of my chest in front of me. Then somehow I’m on the beach and I can see legs around me and sand is getting into my eyes. I’m killed. Poor old Jane. She’s a widow a….
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Harold heads our galley for the Algerian ships and galleys tied up along the long stone dock. Our designated place among our four galleys heading for the dock is in the middle left of whatever shipping is tied up along it. One of our galleys is coming even faster, too fast I think, and pulling alongside of us. It is going after the galleys and cogs docked further to our left. The other two are going to those docked to our right.
A few minutes ago Harold told everyone to piss on the deck and now the rowing drum is beating at an unsustainable rate. I can feel my heart pounding and I’m glad I pissed when everyone else did.
I don’t know why but it seems a lot of men always need to piss before a battle. I know I always do. It seems strange but there you are.
As we approach the dock Harold shouts “Rowers stop”…and then after very brief pause he shouts what the rowers expect to hear next … “Back oars.. Pull…Pull…Pull. ..Pull… Prize crews and deck archers. Get ready … Prize men and deck archers … Get ready.”
There is a hard bump and the sound of splintering wood as we bang into the dock between two tied up Algerian galleys. We hit so hard the upper part of our front rail is pushed in and some of the men standing ready to leap on to the dock lose their balance. They quickly recover and within seconds Harold’s prize crews are pouring off the deck and are on the dock racing for their potential prizes.
Harold and I remain on deck with a wide-eyed Peter standing next to me with his longbow strung and one of his heavy arrows ready to draw. Harold is standing next to me holding his big shield and his sword drawn. We watch as one of our boarding parties runs to the galley on our left and the other runs to the galley on our right. The men are running hard and don’t have far to go. They reach them and leap aboard in what seems like the blink of an eye.
Our galley’s archers are on the deck with us and they begin shooting at the handful of Algerians in range even before our boarding parties pour off our deck and on to the dock. Peter and I join them and there is much shouting and commotion both on the dock and on the Algerian galleys on either side of us. Harold just stands there. He’s obviously poised to throw up his big shield for us to hide behind if arrows start coming the other way.
All of a sudden Harold motions me to stay put and vaults over the deck railing and on to the dock to better watch our boarding parties. He vaults back over rail and is back on board as soon as he sees his boarding parties are on their galleys and the mooring lines of the two galleys have been cut or cast off.
“Archers below to row. Steer to the big one over there” Harol
d shouts to the rudder man as the rowing drum begins to beat. “Yes. The big one, the one with three masts and all the square sails. Go for it…Hurry damn you.. Hurry.”
And then a few minutes later.
“Grapplers, archers and number three boarding party men to the deck.” … “Grapplers, archers and number three boarding party to the deck.” … “Get ready lads. Here come more coins for us all.” …. “Throw your grapples as she comes”…. “Throw ... Throw”… “Stand by with the tow line.”
The ship Harold is after is one of the biggest ships I’ve ever seen. Three tall masts, square sails, and a strange flag with Islamic markings. Wonder where it’s from? Well I guess we’re about to find out.
“What kind of ship is that, Harold? I’ve never seen one like that before.”
“First time for me too. Big’un isn’t she, by God? Eighty paces long if she’s a foot. I think she’s one of those new heathen ships I heard about after the goddamn Moors catched me up as a slave. I saw a ship sort of like it through my oar hole once didn’t I? In Acre it was … when the Saracens held the castle and the Moors was welcome. Square sails it had and three masts … not as big as this one though.”
About then is when Harold and I both realize the problem at the same moment. And it’s a big one - our quarry’s sides are so high above the water that we can’t possibly climb up to its deck.
One part of the big ship’s deck looks to be lower so Harold orders the grapplers to loosen their lines so we can pull ourselves forward along its hull to reach the low spot. We get to it - and then we discover the big ship still towers too far above us even here at its lowest point. This is impossible.
“Cut the lines,” Harold shouts with an exasperated sound in his voice. “We’ll go for another.”
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But we don’t. We start to go for a nearby cog. But as we get closer we can see its deck crowded with armed men. And then rocks start coming down around us. They’ve got slingers by God.
The Archer's Return: Medieval story in feudal times about knights, Templars, crusaders, Marines, and naval warfare during the Middle Ages in England in the reign of King Richard the lionhearted Page 2